


so good at being in trouble

by christinaapplegay



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, tagging homophobia just to cover the bases but its nothing blatant, this is so dialogue heavy for me everyone is just saying shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinaapplegay/pseuds/christinaapplegay
Summary: the old they get mistaken for a couple trick
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 42
Kudos: 260





	so good at being in trouble

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from 'so good at being in trouble' by unknown mortal orchestra
> 
> so i have no idea why this is over 6,000 words like i dont know why its this long but it is. this idea is just irresistible when it comes to their dynamic sooooo what can ya do ya know

It happens after this parent/teacher orientation thing for Henry’s first day of 6th grade she and Judy attend.

Judy is gripping Jen’s arm as they leave, giving Jen something like tiny little pinpricks that flood her body. They’re laughing about something they can't remember and leaning into one another like they're drunk, which probably looks really bad for it being a Monday at noon.

They almost make it to their car but before they can Jen hears her name called out by an unfamiliar voice. It’s not far enough away that ignoring it can be passed off as simply not hearing it, so she clenches her jaw, mutters _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ before turning around to see who the culprit is. 

And it’s a mom she vaguely knows, used to know better, but in no way cares for now. The woman waves at her, and her smile is almost as fake as Jen’s own. What she could possibly want Jen has no idea, Jen hasn’t properly spoken to her since Henry was in first grade and their kids were friends. She didn’t even like her _then._

“Hey you, haven’t seen you in months!” she says, drawing out the words in that classic California accent Jen decided long ago makes her skin itch.

And Jen realizes she cannot remember the woman’s name. She thinks it’s Jill. 

“I’ve been around.” Jen tilts her head, has found herself a literal step in front of Judy, as if she is shielding her, hoping this doesn’t veer into _I’m sorry about your loss_ territory, because _fuck_ , she’s so far past that now. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jill smiles wider, somehow, and glances over at Judy, smiling expectantly, like Judy's supposed to bow down to her as she inevitably introduces herself just ‘cause Jill exists or some weird shit Jen hates.

"Hi, I'm Judy," she says, and it makes Jen kinda sick that Judy is being exposed to Laguna moms. 

“Judy,” Jill repeats, and Jen clenches her jaw at the way it sounds, how she drags the ‘u’ out forever. “I haven’t seen you around, are you new to the area?”

Jen stops a groan and it comes out like she’s clearing her throat, both Judy and Jill look at her briefly, Judy slightly concerned, of course, so Jen says, "Excuse me," as Judy is saying, “Kind of, yeah."

(And when Judy grabs hold of her arm again it suddenly, instantly, soothes her.)

“Whose momma are you?” 

_Oh, Jesus, that’s disgusting,_ Jen thinks, hating the phrasing of that. She realizes now she actually is groaning, so to mask it she gives a tight smile, says, “Judy’s actually helping me raise Henry and Charlie.” 

“Yes, yeah,” Judy confirms, and Jen hopes there are no more questions. She cannot stand there and explain the logistics of their relationship, knows they cannot exactly say Judy is living with her after being the one who killed her husband and now her kids see Judy as their mom, too, that Jen's now something of a murderer herself, that they’re also best-friends who end up sleeping in each other’s beds every other night like that's what every friendship is based upon. Not like she would divulge any of that but it’s just what she’s thinking, what she kinda thinks about a lot, actually, their whole fucked up dynamic. 

“Oh!” Jill smiles. “Like a nanny?” 

“Oh…” Judy says, tilting her head, “well… not…”

“No,” Jen bluntly says, and, fuck, does she want to get out of here, so she lies, says, “I’m sorry, we really do not have the time for this.” 

“Oh, no worries. I just wanted to check-in real quick, see how you’re doing, Jen. I know you have a lot on your plate now, being a single mom and all." 

“Yeah, well, thank you.”

“I just think you’re so brave for doing this all alone.” 

And God, it’s so fake. It’s like sickeningly fake. It’s the assumption that Jen’s unable to survive without Ted, which _maybe_ she initially had thought, felt, but now, _now_ , not so much. 

And then Judy’s piping up, saying, “She’s not all alone,” like she’s offended on Jen’s behalf. 

Jill tilts her head. "You're not?"

“And she’s not a single mom.” And at that Jen just thinks, _what the fuck did I miss?_

“Oh, I hadn't realized you were dating already.” It’s a fucking weird thing to say - as if they’re friends or something. It’s like the second a tragedy happens everyone is buddy-buddy with you. And the tacked on _already_? Jesus, shut up. 

So, Jen shrugs at Jill overly enthusiastically, not sure what she’s supposed to be saying, because sure, she's tried it, tried dating, but she's so entirely not sure where Judy’s thought process is going. And she's just desperate for this to end, so maybe if they don’t say anything else it will die in front of them.

And maybe it's the way Judy is so obviously, physically close to Jen, gripping her arm and all, or Judy’s verbal insistence, or the fact that they’re there together, at a parent event for your children, but without another word from either of them, Jill’s huge plastered on smile drops suddenly, and she says, “ _Oh_ ,” almost like she's been taken fuckin' ill, and pointing between them, “you two?"

“Uh, well,” Judy says, looking at Jen, voice unsure, rising at the end. And Jen wonders why Judy isn’t denying it if she’s on this fucking I’m just gonna say shit kick, wonders why _she_ isn’t saying no, isn’t straight away telling Jill it’s not like that, and maybe it’s ‘cause it provokes Jen, the grossly uncomfortable aura Jill adopts at the mistaken realization that she and Judy are a thing. She almost wants to say she’s turned into a full-fledge lesbian just to get a rise out of the woman. 

Jen opts for, “She’s been a real rock for me, and the boys, and-”

“-And Henry and Charlie are okay with... that?” Jen can't tell if she means her dating or the possibility of her being with a woman, has a feeling it's the latter, and it’s like Jen forgot that homophobia exists, supposes because she hasn't experienced it, or something.

“Yeah." Why the fuck would they have this arrangement if Henry and Charlie were genuinely not okay with it? “Yeah, they fuckin’ love Judy,” - and she looks at Judy who is making heart eyes at her which is to be dissected another time - “sometimes even more than they love me.” And she hopes that packs a punch, somehow, like _ha, fuck off._ Like, _ha, I’m happy even without a husband._

“Oh my God, well, that is just so wonderful.” And it looks like she had a real hard time getting that ‘wonderful’ out.

“Oh, God, it fucking is. Life is just so fucking wonderful, isn’t it, Jude?” 

Judy’s mouth sits open, looking between the two, then smiles, says, “It _so_ is.” 

*

Jen doesn't think about it, puts it aside, figures what the fuck does it matter, she’ll just avoid Jill for the rest of her life. 

Judy doesn’t mention it besides saying something about homophobic microaggressions so they just go on with life and it really doesn’t matter.

It’s just another thing that happened.

*

She gets a text a few days later from another ‘friend’ from years ago, this time from one of Charlie’s old classmate's mom, congratulating her on finding someone, _on_ _life after Ted, on a girlfriend_ , and she shouldn’t be fucking surprised, this kinda shit spreads like wildfire among these women. She’s sitting right next to Judy on the couch sharing a bottle of wine a few hours after dinner when she gets the text and Judy asks who it is because Jen’s face turns into a barometer of her emotions (and she says fuck, shit, fuck me) not because she wants to pry, Judy clarifies. 

And something about the word _girlfriend_ doesn’t sit right, obviously because it’s not true, so Jen cannot let it be girlfriend when it’s not, and she doesn’t let herself think about what it could be if it was. 

Jen brushes it off, decides she’ll reply later if at all and Judy slightly pushes her to share but when Jen says it’s nothing, really, Judy moves on, Jen intently listening as Judy starts talking about this new paint she wants to try, it’s acrylic and the way it dries is so fascinating, and it’s easily mixable and goes on the canvas smoothly, as smooth as thick acrylic can, and the colors are so rich and beautiful and Jen has no clue about painting or what any of it means, but listening to Judy talk about things she loves softens her up (and occasionally pisses her off, they really do not need _another_ book on amethyst crystals, Jen's skimmed through all of them at this point and there’s like, almost one on every flat surface now).

(And as Jen listens, she absently wonders if Judy and girlfriend can even be synonymous.)

Later that night, when Judy’s in the guesthouse and Jen’s upstairs in her room, she considers texting Judy, asking her to come inside and stay with her because honestly it's getting hard _not_ sleeping with Judy.

It’s the safety of having someone there with her that she’s getting addicted to.

She figures it would be selfish to text Judy at this hour, so instead, right before setting alarms for the morning, she drafts a text to whatever her name is explaining that it’s a misunderstanding, but she deletes it, deciding she’s not going to engage, which she fucking should’ve done from the get-go here. She should've just shot Jill’s assumption down. Not correcting either woman may not be right, but she almost has no desire to, because fuck, for some fucking reason she’s adopted this sick fucking habit of just acting like this, lying like it’s truth.

*

“Oh my God! Jen! We _do_ have mascarpone!” Judy says, head in the fridge. Judy wants to make Tiramisu because that’s their life now. 

“It’s definitely expired, Jude,” Jen says, sitting at the breakfast nook, her look falling between her laptop set up for emails and various shit, and Judy, barefoot in a floral sundress, walking around the kitchen like it’s hers, which it is, Jen reminds herself.

Judy makes her way over with a notepad and pen in one hand and a glass of water in the other and sets it down near Jen’s laptop, saying, “for you, miss,” in a funny voice, and they exchange smiles and Jen thanks her, and Judy sits next to her thigh to thigh, and Jen can’t find it in herself to ask Judy to scoot over, even an inch. 

It’s a Friday afternoon and Judy’s off work, with Jen having some to do, and the boys decided they want to carpool with friends home from school meaning neither have to make that trip. 

So, it feels safe to place her hand atop Judy’s thigh with no one to possibly comment, no one to question the nature of it, because it’s just something they do, it doesn’t mean there’s anything behind it, especially not when Jen’s fingertips touch Judy’s exposed thigh and Jen’s suddenly hot all over, removing her hand because it's sort of something she cannot deal with, there’s especially no meaning behind that.

And in this strange way, their life just works. The boys start school after a summer that’s reminiscent of none in the past, a summer where a family spends time together, and it’s actually enjoyable, and it’s light and fun, and it feels real, and there is no faking it for the kids’ sake, and, they all ease into a routine that feels familiar once the boys have to go back to school. 

Jen’s pressing down on the backspace key when Judy asks if she’s had tiramisu before, and how she wants to make it as a congratulation's on finishing your first week of the school year celebration for the boys, and Jen says, “uh, not sure,” trying not to be frustrated by Judy’s seeming inability to recognize that Jen’s trying to focus, but ultimately unable to care that works not getting done when Judy just says shit like that, shit that makes her almost cry on a Friday afternoon. 

“You would remember,” Judy says, confidently, writing down 'Lady Fingers,' which Jen forgot is their actual name. 

Jen takes her glasses off, forgoing work for the moment, nudging her shoulder into Judy’s. “It’s that good?”

“Well, mine is,” Judy says, smiling at her. And then of course Jen has to smile back, because who the fuck doesn’t return a smile to Judy.

“What, do you have a special recipe?” Jen worries it comes out too flirty, with the whole looking into each other's eyes for no good reason, so she adds on, “Or some shit?” 

“Mm, maybe,” Judy says, smirking, and Jen notices she starts to shift away, which is good because maybe she can finish her work before the weekend, but bad because Judy is a warmth Jen is realizing she needs, kinda craves once she’s missing. 

“Is it alright if Henry comes to the store with me? He said the other day that he wanted to show me these crackers called 'Judy’s Bunnies.' And now I wanna try them.”

“Of course,” Jen says, instinctively knowing Henry will jump at the chance to do anything with Judy.

“The boys will be home soon, right?” Judy then asks, washing her hands, and Jen looks up at her and something about the casualness of it, Judy there, in their kitchen, looking so lived in, the word home meaning to _them_ , to her and Judy, that further cements that this is her life now. 

It kinda blurs together for a moment.

“Any minute.” 

“Cool, well, I am gonna go change and hopefully by then they will be home.”

“Change? Why? You look nice.”

“Oh, thanks, Jen. I’m just a little bloated and the dress is too tight on the belly.”

Jen nods and smiles lightly, tells Judy she’ll ask Henry for her. 

Where Jen tends to halt, she cannot stop the thought, cannot picture it another way other than Judy being the boys’ other mom. She the boys would agree, even Charlie, and Jen loves it. She loves that she and Judy have committed to being one another’s person, loves that Judy has a family after years of not, of years of wishing for one, loves that her world feels awake and alive again after years of going through the motions, of days blending together so it all feels so unbearably monotonous, and she knows she loves Judy, probably more than any other friend she’s ever had, but she has this brief, kinda fleeting thought where she wonders if there’s anything more there, if that’s even possible. 

It’s a second before Henry and Charlie are home, and Judy’s in another dress that’s even flowier and taking off with Henry (after he gives Jen a hug and a love you), and then Charlie’s there, suddenly, in front of her with that fucking smirk on his face that instantly pisses her off but also kinda charms her in the sense that he’s her son, and she does love him even if he is 16. 

“Can we talk?” He stands in front of her like an ox, but faux tough.

Judy says that being sarcastic with your child only leads to mistrust, so Jen says, “Yeah, of course, babe,” instead of, “Settle down, there, bucko,” and she notices that he looks a mix between frustrated and embarrassed. 

And right away, it’s, “I wish you would just tell me the fucking truth for once.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Jen tries to think of the last time she lied to Charlie, which yeah, there’s been a lot of it in the past year, but the very last lie she told him was that she couldn’t find the brand of cookies he wanted at the store when she actually just didn’t want to buy them. So fuckin’ sue her. 

“I don’t get why you think I can’t handle anything,” he shakes his head, rolls his eyes, the whole 16-year-old boy mannerisms on lock. “You can just tell me, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Char,” Jen says, firmly, because she’s so out of the loop here it’s ridiculous, “honey, what are you talking about?” 

“You and Judy.” 

“Yeah? What about me and Judy?”

“You and Judy are like…” He stares at her like he's saying uh, duh, but, still, she’s lost. 

“We’re what?”

“You’re fucking gay,” he says it like Jen’s stupid, adds on, “together,” at the end.

 _Oh, Jesus, fuck,_ Jen thinks. And God, she didn't think it would be this fucking immediate, either.

She takes her glass off. She blinks slowly. “No.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, where the fuck did you hear this because it’s news to me.” 

“Justin,” he plainly says, like that explains everything. 

“Who the fuck is Justin?“

“Chambers.” 

“I don’t know who that is, but I guess if Justin says it it must be true.”

Charlie hangs his head back, “Not the point, mom. 

His mom heard from Jake’s mom that you had a girlfriend.” 

It really shouldn’t surprise her, and it doesn’t, not genuinely, but now Charlie’s under the impression she and Judy are fucking dating and it feels like she’s in another web of lies without even really meaning to be. It’s like she’s just constantly falling into various fucked up scenarios so maybe she should just buckle down and get used to it or else she’s in for a lifetime of this frustration.

“I didn’t use that word,” Jen says, regrets it, but Charlie only continues, says, “...which, fine, whatever, mom, but you could at least tell me and Henry.” 

“Charlie,” Jen says, pausing to breathe, and deeply, because _fuck_ she really dug herself a grave here, “babe, there’s a misunderstanding somewhere along the line and-“

“Is it not Judy? I just thought it would be Judy. Who the fuck are you dating?”

“I’m not, I’m _not_ dating anyone,” Jen says, almost mournfully, for whatever reason, “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“How?” 

“How,” Jen repeats, nodding. What the fuck does she say?

Charlie looks like he wants to laugh, his eyebrows furrow. Jen thinks he looks sweet, despite it all. 

“You know what? I’ll take care of it,” Jen says, numb to the reality of it, “Just, please, Char, don’t mention it to Judy, and please, do not tell Hen-”

“Oh, Henry knows,” Charlie says, and laughs, only a little, seeming to stop himself because he knows Jen will be angry. 

“Oh my God,” Jen mutters, and it’s enough to shock her out of numbness and into this full-body tensity, “Did you fucking tell him? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything before they left?” And Jen knows it’s not the right tone for speaking to her child, but, _well_ , sometimes it just happens.

“I knew you wouldn’t want me to say anything in front of them. Wouldn’t want me to cause a scene.” 

Jen leans her head into her hands, digging her palms into her eyes. “Well, what the fuck does Henry think he knows? Is he mad? Upset? Who told him?”

“Same as me, and I have no idea who told him, mom,” Charlie says, going to grab a glass of water. “He didn’t seem fazed when he told me. He loves Judy and I think we both know that.”

Jen feels her chest tightening to a point that’s scary, has a brief, indulgent thought she’s gonna have a heart attack, and can now get out of all this easily, “I know. Oh, fucking hell,” Jen says, groaning. 

“Jeez, mom, what did you do?” He sounds a little too holier than thou for Jen’s liking. 

“Nothing,” she says, trying to match his tone. 

“Obviously you did fucking something.”

“I did fucking not, and don’t talk to me like that, I’m your mother.”

“Okay, whatever.” 

It’s a beat in time Jen hates. 

“Sorry you had to hear that at school,” she says, going for empathy, “I hope no one was like, mean to you about it.”

“Not really,” he says, shrugging, “I didn’t even believe it, anyway.” 

Jen refrains from saying, oh, sure, kiddo, because he definitely looked like he thought he knew something. 

“Okay,” Jen says, nodding at him, “Good. Judy’s making tiramisu.” 

“Alright,” Charlie says, slouching over, “Please don’t tell me that means you’re making dinner.” 

“Take out.” 

*

It’s like secrecy runs through the veins of the house. 

Henry, for some reason, and as far as Jen can tell, does not ask Judy about it, nor does he ask her, and Judy doesn’t say anything either, so Jen stays quiet. Jen wonders if Charlie lied about him knowing, or what. 

And Jen still cannot understand how it made the rounds. Why would a parent share that with their kid in the first fucking place? Why would anyone share this like it's anyone's business but theirs? It’s so weird, it’s so fucked. 

And how many people know? How many people is she going to have to set straight? 

She gets texts from various people over the next multiple days, some whose numbers she doesn’t even have saved, saying how happy they are for her, and a few questioning what made her turn gay, which is so fucking blunt it shocks her, and she doesn’t reply to any of them, which feels just as shitty as lying.

And she cannot control it now, she starts allowing herself to think of Judy in that way. How different it might be, how similar it might be, wonders if it would ruin it, amplify it, if it would make any sense at all - at least then she and Judy could share a bed and Jen wouldn’t have to feel like she’s lying bare, asking to be hurt when she asks Judy to stay the night with her. Or maybe she still would. She probably still would. 

*

Charlie punched a hole in the wall because he lost a major tournament in one of his video games so she and Judy are at the hardware store looking for something like paint or whatever the fuck you need to repair it. 

They’re walking down an aisle that has a bunch of power drills and it reminds Jen that she broke the one they have; she stops at one that’s huge for no reason and picks it up, waves it at Judy saying, “I wonder if this is like, the same shit with men and cars. Like making up for something down there, you know?”

“They need big power tools to feel manly, you mean?” 

“And that their dicks are small.”

Jen’s thumb hits the little button to make it go whirrrr as she’s putting it back down and she gasps, “What the fuck, why is it on?”

And Judy laughs at her, and Jen shakes her head, laughing a little because Judy’s laughing, fully sets it back down, “That is so dangerous.”

“You know, you look kinda like a lumberjack,” Judy says, standing back like she’s admiring her, and Jen makes a face at her that says huh _?_ “Or a stereotypical lesbian, that baggy flannel and all.”

“Oh,” Jen says, tugging at the bottom of her shirt, “ha, ha.”

“I don’t mean it in like, a bad way,” Judy says like she’s doing damage control now, “You’re like a sexy lesbian lumberjack.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Well, I’m complimenting you.”

“Gross,” Jen says, trying for a teasing tone, and Judy just purses her lips.

And it's moments like these where she’s enjoying just being with Judy, where it’s light and easy and there’s nothing in the way of it, where she gets these selfish ideas, where she knows she should be content with what they have, still gives way to thoughts of what it could be if they were more.

And this is the shit Jen should just expect by now; when she takes her eyes off Judy she makes eye contact with a woman at the other end of the aisle and regrets it immediately. 

“Jen?”

“Oh, fuck me.” 

Judy turns around abruptly; the woman, Sarah, an old neighbor, who Jen actually sold the house to, like, ten years ago, was really good friends with for a few after that, had a falling out with because Jen’s never been a good friend, is now walking towards them, and Jen’s gonna throw up.

“This must be Judy?” 

Jen takes a prolonged blink. She’s not even gonna think about why she would know that. 

“This must be,” Judy says, looking pleased for some reason Jen can’t understand.

And maybe Jen just won’t say anything. Maybe she’ll act like she’s sick and has lost her voice.

“You know, I am so glad I’ve run into you, how are you?” Jen figures it’s gonna be a shitty conversation because why would it be good.

Judy looks at her, and Jen’s almost mad at her concern; Judy’s always so fucking concerned for her, sometimes it’s suffocating.

“I’m fuckin’ awesome.”

“Oh… okay,” Sarah says, kinda like she’s unsettled.

And then of course Judy is trying to ease it over, says, “We’re just a little stressed. One of Jen's sons punched a hole in the wall and we’re trying to figure how to fix it. You know how it is. With teens.” 

“I don’t have kids, actually.”

“Oh,” Judy says, softly, then, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I hate kids.”

“Right,” Judy says, nodding, and she just keeps going, “That is valid.”

They all nod at one another. 

“O-kay, well, this was fun,” Jen says, nudging her head up the aisle as she grabs Judy’s wrist, “Gotta go find that… stuff for our wall now.”

“Oh, Jen, I just wanted to ask…” Sarah says, and her tone is sterner now, “I was wondering why all of my calls were ignored after… Ted… you know.”

“I - I mean, I didn’t really wanna talk to anyone at the time.” It feels out of line for her to say that, fucked up to vilify her for not calling someone who she hasn’t spoken to in years right after her husband gets run over and killed. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Hm, okay,” Sarah says, looks over at Judy, back at Jen, narrows her eyes in a way that immediately feels off, “but you had time to date?”

And then she literally just turns around and walks away as if nothing happened. Jen's envious, thinks they should have just fucking hightailed it the minute she saw Sarah. 

“So nice meeting you,” Judy shouts after her. 

And Judy turns to her, wide-eyed. “I’m sensing something happened between the two of you. Also, did that really just happen again?”

“Well,” Jen says, needing a second to actively breathe, too nervous to look at Judy, “I think… word spread.”

“Shit. These women are nosy.”

“They really fuckin’ are.”

*

It’s just because people think they’re a couple, that’s all it is, that’s why Jen’s thinking of Judy in this way now, it’s like some fucked up form of when it’s in your face you think about it; once this blows over she won’t be thinking about how Judy smells like rosemary and fig shampoo no matter what and somehow and how her nose always crinkles when she laughs, how Jen wants to make her laugh just to see it like she’s fucking 13 and has her first real crush or something. God, and how soft her skin is, how a hand lying on Judy's thigh feels like home, in this weird, insane way. 

She thinks about how Judy’s another mom to her kids, how Judy’s a confidant to her, how if Judy’s in the guesthouse at night Jen’s suddenly paranoid somethings gonna happen to her and she won’t be there to help, how she's found herself more insistent that Judy sleeps in her bed, just 'cause, just so she knows she's safe. How there’s a part of her that likes that people are under the impression she and Judy are together, how if it happens again she loses herself in thoughts of actually confirming it, how Judy and girlfriend are sounding more and more like the same word, sometimes, how they induce the same warm feeling. 

She tells Judy that _it_ got around and of course Judy isn’t mad. She’s sympathetic, telling Jen it’s okay, it can be dealt with, it’s not a big deal, so Jen doesn’t think about it, doesn’t think about how she hasn’t taken care of it like she told Charlie she would, doesn’t think about how she knows she probably loves Judy a little more than she should.

So, she focuses on the day-to-day because that feels more important. It just so happens Judy is her day-to-day so it’s kind of in-fuckin-escapable. 

*

They've just finished making the boys lunch, something they’ve taken to as an activity together on the weekends, when the doorbell rings. 

They look at each other suddenly stoic from across the counter.

That sound has generated some sort of classical conditioning, like every time the doorbell rings they immediately think something fucked is about to happen. 

“Uh, should I get it?” Charlie asks, chewing his sandwich.

“No.”

“Go ahead and eat, boys.”

They walk to the door, and Jen opens it, kinda slowly, bracing herself, and it’s another fucking random woman she knew years ago and she almost shouts fuck off at her and slams the door shut. 

“Hi, Jen.” She’s smiling sympathetically, what resembles an easter basket in her hands, but it’s like, September. 

“Hello, Diane.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Diane looks at Judy pointedly, confirming what Jen already knows she’s here for. 

“No, nope,” Judy says, smiling, then it drops when she looks at Jen whose face is stone cold.

“Good, good. I just wanted to give you guys a gift.” 

“Oh, that’s…” She gives it to Jen and it looks like faux flowers and Moscow mule cups. “That’s nice.”

And then Diane really goes for the jugular. “I’m just so glad you could move on after Ted, I can’t imagine how losing your husband is, and so violently…”

And Jen kinda feels herself snap, like the mix of it all has been poked with a stick. 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I haven’t moved on, and God, we haven’t even talked in like, seven fuckin’ years, I don’t even know where you live-” 

And then Judy’s yanking her arm, pulling her into quietness, and Jen blows a raspberry at the woman’s shocked face like she’s drunk or high or just out of her mind, and maybe she is, thinks this weird grey area she and Judy live in is what's doing her in, and then Judy is saying, “Thank you so much for this, it’s so sweet of you, I love Moscow mules,” as she’s closing the door and the boys are walking over. 

“What was all that?” Charlie’s immediately saying. 

“What’s wrong, mom?” Henry adds, and Jen’s about to totally lose her shit. 

“Boys, are you done eating?”

“Yeah,” they both say, so Jen tells them to go up to their rooms because she needs to talk to Judy.

When they are in the comfort of silence, Jen has set the stupid basket down, she says, “God, how the fuck am I supposed to tell this many fucking people that we’re not even fucking together? I feel like I have to put out a fuckin' press release or some shit."

“Well, maybe we don’t have to,” Judy says it like she’s asking what she wants for dinner, it’s that casual.

“What?” Jen spits out before really registering what Judy has said.

“We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Jen shakes her head, feeling like her mind is three steps behind. “Judy, what?”

“We could just… be together.” 

“Jude,” Jen says like she’s saying oh c’mon. 

“Just a thought,” Judy says, lightly shrugging. “It would be easier than setting a buncha people straight.”

There's a little voice in her head that tells her not to satiate the thoughts she’s had, not to straight away say yes, that’s what I’ve secretly been hoping for. She almost can’t help it though, it’s like Judy’s got this fucking spell on her that she is entirely unable to climb out of, and if Judy’s suggesting this to her, Jen doubts she can let that go.

“Are - I mean, are you serious?”

Judy shrugs again, smiling shyly, “I wouldn’t mind it."

“Ah, fuck, Judy,” Jen says, harshly whispering; she grabs Judy’s wrist and leads them out to the backyard, suddenly paranoid the boys are listening. 

“Are you fucking messing with me?” Jen says once they are outside, face to face. 

“I’m fucking not,” she says back, easily matching her tone, and she smirks, and Jen cracks a small smile. 

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I can’t lie to you.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true, Judy.”

“Okay, well, it’s like, half-true,” Judy says, tilting her head back and forth, “Not lying now.”

“Maybe, uh,” Jen says, suddenly feeling nauseous, a chill, and lightheaded all at once. “I think I need to think about it. I think.”

“Okay,” Judy says, soothingly, her hand rubbing Jen’s upper arm, “Take all the time you need,” and Judy wraps her into a hug, Jen resting her chin on Judy’s shoulder even though she's taller, and the chill that now feels neverending is there, and as she’s pulling back, she goes to look at Judy, who seems to have the same idea, but slightly off, because Judy’s mouth is now on the corner of her’s, and for some reason, Jen’s response is to push her away, step back like she’s been fucking struck by lightning.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Jen,” Judy says, and there’s fear in her eyes, and Jen only wants to lessen it, so she says, “No, no, I-”

“-I thought that’s what we were doing…”

Jen decides now is when she’s gonna practice honesty because why the fuck not, so she nods, embarrassingly eager, and they kiss so lightly it’s almost experimental.

Judy hums so Jen in a newfound moment of confidence presses her lips harder to Judy's. She wonders if her lips are chapped, pulls back right away, now self-conscious by the thought, even more, that she's so easily given in, and then Judy’s kissing _her_ , and it’s nice, really fucking nice, and soft, maybe the softest kiss she’s ever had, and Jen realizes that they're awkwardly far apart like they're at a school dance and the teachers are walking around telling everyone to leave room for Jesus, but then Judy is stepping closer, hand gripping her arm, and Jen’s thinking about kissing her again before it’s even over.

*

Jen figures she needs to talk to Henry about this whole mess.

They told Charlie everything (save for like, her and Judy’s now very undefined relationship) and he thought it was fucking hilarious which made Jen want to ground him until he’s 18, so now she’s gone up to Henry’s room to finally talk to him (knowing she should’ve days ago), tuck him in, say her goodnights.

She’s sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed, waiting for him to crawl in, and when he does she says, “Hey, Hen?”

“Yep?” He says, burrowing under his blankets.

“You like Judy?” Jen asks, needing the confirmation. 

“Yeah, mom, duh.”

Jen smiles down at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Well, what if Judy and I… what if we were a couple? How would you feel about that?”

“Like, how you and dad were?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I thought you already are.”

Jen smiles almost sympathetically at him, puts it off by helping him get comfortable in bed.

“Did you hear that at school?”

Henry nods. 

“And you didn’t feel like you could ask me, or come to me about it, boop?”

“Oh,” Henry says, and he rubs his eyes, and Jen feels guilty for keeping him up. “It didn’t make me mad or sad or anything.”

“It didn’t?” There’s relief, then.

“No,” Henry confirms, yawns, “I want Judy to be my mom just like you and I thought that's what it would mean. So, I was happy.”

“Judy…” Jen says, huffs, annoyed by the tears she feels building up even though this is her kid she's talking to, “Judy can be your mom, too.”

“Okay, good.” 

“Okay,” Jen says like she’s confirming it for the both of them, “okay,” she softly repeats to herself. She stands, makes sure Henry is nice and tucked in, kisses his forehead, says, “good night, Hen. Love you.” 

And when Henry returns the goodnight, sleepily says, "tell Judy goodnight and I love her from me," Jen thinks, okay, maybe we will try this.


End file.
